


Patience is a Virtue

by WitchFlame (RachelMcN)



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Ancient History, Aziraphale is "just enough of a bastard to be worth knowing" (Good Omens), Aziraphale is So Done (Good Omens), Aziraphale is a Little Shit (Good Omens), Crowley Knows Better, Crowley is Trying to be Heroic (Good Omens), Crowley is Whipped (Good Omens), Crowley's Name is Crawly | Crawley (Good Omens), Gen, It's Not His Fault This Lacks Excitement, Protective Crowley (Good Omens), Sassy Aziraphale (Good Omens), Trapped, Winged Aziraphale (Good Omens), Wings, angel trap
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-19
Updated: 2020-05-19
Packaged: 2021-03-02 18:01:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,612
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24271021
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RachelMcN/pseuds/WitchFlame
Summary: An angel walks into an arcane trap and is ever so slightly annoyed at the inconvenience.Crawly snaps his fingers and one of the markings unravels, shifting into dust brushed aside by a light breeze. Aziraphale is wholly unimpressed.“Ah, of course,” Aziraphale snips, testing out this new concept known as sarcasm, “How obvious. The glacial pace of a single brushstroke at a time is clearly what is called for here.”The demons legs bow as Crawly turns away from Aziraphale, emphasizing his incredulity with his whole body. It is unnecessarily dramatic.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 13
Kudos: 101





	Patience is a Virtue

**Author's Note:**

> When debating between Crawly/Crawley I went with the former as that is the spelling in the intro of the book. Feel free to correct me if another reliable reference argues for the latter.

Aziraphale is not used to being inconvenienced. He flicks his wings in annoyance as the demon circles him.

“Don’t go glaring at me,” Crawly hisses, “I’m not responsible for this.”

“You are symptomatic of the issue,” Aziraphale sniffs, “and a demon. I have every right to be put out.”

The demon huffs, a short puff of breath. “I didn’t go telling the humans to serve up an angel. That was all their own idea.” Crawly narrows his eyes as he studies the trap. “You’re lucky I was the only demon near enough when they rang the dinner bell.”

Aziraphale shuffles in place, refusing to concede his good fortune. He clasps his hands calmly in front of him and silently urges Crawly to get on with it. The demon hums unhelpfully.

“Well?” Aziraphale prompts exasperatedly, “Are you going to do anything or am I expected to stand here until the next demon comes along? Perhaps they would be more accommodating.”

Crawly curls his lip and growls. “Oh, you don’t want that. Trust me, I’m the best you’re getting. The humans have just made it all…messy.”

The angel frowns, glancing at the runic workings under his feet. There is some beautiful calligraphy in the art, he has to admit. The spell-work inherent in the markings does prickle though.

Crawly snaps his fingers and one of the markings unravels, shifting into dust brushed aside by a light breeze. Aziraphale is wholly unimpressed.

“Is that all,” he complains, “I’ll be here until the next new moon at this rate.”

“Would you,” Crawly protests, “do you think you could hold your horses? I’m trying to be delicate here.”

“Ah, of course,” Aziraphale snips, testing out this new concept known as sarcasm, “How obvious. The glacial pace of a single brushstroke at a time is clearly what is called for here.”

The demons legs bow as Crawly turns away from Aziraphale, emphasizing his incredulity with his whole body. It is unnecessarily dramatic.

“I do apologise, your _highness,”_ Crawly drawls, “Do tell how you propose I resolve this flagrant disrespect of your mighty personage.”

“Well, there’s no need to be rude,” Aziraphale scolds, “can’t you just…” He flicks his fingers at the markings pointedly.

“Right, sure,” Crawly mocks, “Would you prefer crippling anxiety or igniting feathers, because that’s two of the possible ways to collapse this menagerie of charms in a timely fashion for you.”

Aziraphale squints suspiciously at the markings, doubting the demons assessment. “That’s the lock curse isn’t it?” he indicates, “Just get rid of that one and we’ll be done here.”

“ _That_ is the shaky foundation of a very precarious tower of complex enchantments,” Crawly lectures, “But by all means, I can send it collapsing atop you all at once if you insist.”

“You’re very combative today.”

“I’d be less so if you stopped belittling my skills while I’m attempting to heroically rescue you.”

Crawly tilts his head, snaps his fingers. A secondary inscribed mark twists freely into the wind. Aziraphale can feel his attention withering.

“I’m not sure that’s how I’d refer to this.”

“What?” Crawly glances away from the markings, distracted, “Rescuing?”

“Heroic,” Aziraphale clarifies, “You’re hardly having to fight off a horde of villagers, are you?”

“That’s,” Crawly disagrees, nose wrinkling, “beside the point. A demon could get in a lot of trouble for this, you know.”

“Oh, of course,” Aziraphale soothes placatingly, “I’m just saying, it doesn’t come across as very challenging does it?”

Crawly’s mouth gapes open, clicks shut. A low hiss vibrates out of his throat. “Right, sorry,” he grits out, “I’ll just organise an angry mob next time, shall I? Do a tap dance across holy ground, would that meet your exacting requirements?”

“I suppose that would count,” Aziraphale begrudgingly admits, “Though it sounds a tad excessive.”

“Alright then,” Crawly cries, throwing his arms up, “I’ll keep that in mind. In the meantime, not that I’m busy, but maybe you want to stop distracting me from this boring, mundane rescue I’m in the middle of.”

Aziraphale rolls his eyes as the demon circles around to his back, feeling the dust swirl over his sandal as a third brush-mark is painstakingly removed. He lifts his foot, shaking off the ash irritably.

“I have no clue what they were expecting with this venture,” he decides to share, seeing as he’s likely to be standing here with nothing better to do for a while, “All I did was ask for directions. This seems exorbitantly unnecessary.”

“Let me guess,” Crawly mutters, circling, “You approached them with your wings out.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Aziraphale corrects, “I may not be as vain as you but I am capable of preening myself to the point where I can easily fold them.”

“There is not a charm in here that would force you to manifest them,” Crawly points out needlessly, “And yet they’re hanging out of your back as obvious as the day I met you.”

“I don’t see the problem.”

“You need to _blend in_ , angel.” Crawly complains, pausing to snap a fourth runic stain out of existence, “The humans are multiplying. Stories are getting confused. One of them mistook me for a dragon last time I was out sunning myself on a nice rock and next thing I knew the nearest town was sending me tributes.”

“That seems unfair,” Aziraphale pouts, “How come you get tributes and I get led into a trap? What kind of tributes?”

“Live sheep and such, it was a pain,” Crawly dismissively brushes off, “The lesson here is that you need to hide your wings. Don’t see mine, do you?”

Aziraphale narrows his eyes, studying the demon as though he were particularly dense. “Of course I can,” he states slowly, “You haven’t hidden them, you just moved them sideways.”

“Stop cheating,” Crawly stops to scold him, pointing determinedly close to his face. Aziraphale’s eyes cross as he attempts to focus on the encroaching finger. “You know damn well what I mean. Humans can’t see into other planes. Ergo, invisible.”

“I’m an _angel,”_ Aziraphale refutes, “I should not have to hide that fact. A demon, well certainly, I can see why you may want to move around unnoticed.”

“You’re doing it again,” Crawly moans, another pile of ash dusting across Aziraphale’s feet, “You keep making me sound all…sneaky and evil.”

Aziraphale allows that statement to simmer in the air for a moment. Crawly growls and bares his fangs, eyes casting across the floor. “Oh, shut up.”

As the demon resumes his pacing, Aziraphale coughs lightly, pointedly pushing the growing pile of ash towards the limit of the boundaries with his toes. A low grumble emits from Crawly.

“Are you almost done?” Aziraphale demands, “I was looking forward to exploring Babylon, if I can ever find it. The city sounds remarkable.”

“No, I’m not _almost done,”_ Crawly mocks, “I am incredibly grateful I’ve never had to rely on you to get me out of one these things, though, I can tell you that.”

“Their hanging gardens are supposed to be delightful,” Aziraphale continues, deliberately ignoring the demons repeated mutterings of _almost done_ as Crawly continues circling, “and all of the newest experimentation with crops is apparently occurring nearby the city. I heard tell that their culinary delights are expanding beyond belief. Oh, you really must join me, I can’t wait to explore.”

“Sounds divine,” Crawly interrupts, “I already hate it. Might as well, see what I can stir up there, being an agent of chaos and all. Counter the thankless deed of letting an ungrateful angel loose upon the world.”

“I’m not ungrateful,” Aziraphale denies, “I do appreciate your aid. What were you doing nearby, anyway?”

“Looking for you,” the demon hisses, fingers snapping intermittently, “Your light went all dim and I wanted to know why. And then the humans sent out an _here be angels_ cry and I got my answer.”

“My light?” Aziraphale takes a moment to filter through the implications, “You keep track of where I am?”

“No, you keep shouting where you are. You’re like a roving sun, I couldn’t miss you if I tried.” Crawly waves mindlessly towards Aziraphale’s wings as he passes back in front of him. “Like with those, no human is going to miss them. If you actually think you’d be any good at hiding I have some bad news for you.”

The air around Aziraphale shimmers as Crawly bellows a cry of triumph. A breeze twines around the angels legs and kicks up a swirl of dust as the remaining marks crumble. Aziraphale sneezes.

“Don’t rush to thank me,” Crawly sighs, flicking at Aziraphale’s wing. He pulls the limb aside in offense. “You better put those away if you expect me to walk into the middle of a city with you. You’re no less of an angel if they’re taking up space in a different dimension. Humans are all about this free will thing, aren’t they? Tips the scales if they think they’re being judged by a hovering angel.”

“I suppose you have a point,” Aziraphale concedes glumly. His feathers rustle as he slips them aside, coating them in the realm of the ethereal. “You’ll join me, then?”

“Sure,” Crawly sniffs, “How do you go about hanging a garden, anyway?”

“I have no idea, but I’m sure it will be wonderful to find out,” Aziraphale beams, “It can’t be too hard to find somebody to ask for directions.”

Crawly takes a hold of his shoulders and starts guiding him away from the nearby village. “Pretty sure I heard somebody say the city is in this direction. Definitely. We’ll ask in the next town if we get lost.”

“If you’re certain.”

_“Very.”_


End file.
